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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23516476">This Is the Future the Republic Wants</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sternfleck/pseuds/sternfleck'>sternfleck</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars Sequel Trilogy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Assassin Armitage Hux, Cock Slut Ben Solo, Cultural Differences, Death Star ball gag, First Kiss, Hair-pulling, Humiliation, M/M, Meet-Cute, Non-Consensual Mind Reading, Oral Sex, Pre-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Pride Parade, Speciesism, Street Harassment, Touch-Starved, Virgin Armitage Hux, but it's soft and fun for all, crack with feelings, he's also a pearl-clutching holier-than-thou moralist, lots of happy gay aliens seen in passing, they're gay but they're kinda homophobic too</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 13:41:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,637</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23516476</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sternfleck/pseuds/sternfleck</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Why would a First Order officer let a Jedi padawan undress him?”</p><p>“You tell me,” says Ben. He flicks open another of Hux’s buttons. </p><p>“I can’t think of one reason.” Hux pushes his chest forward, offering himself for Ben to touch. “The First Order opposes everything the New Republic stands for.”</p><p>-</p><p>Major Hux, assigned to Hosnian Prime to assassinate a New Republic politician, gets lost at a Pride parade. His sterile, self-righteous First Order upbringing did not prepare him for the debauchery he encounters. Hux runs into trouble, but when all seems lost, a handsome padawan appears with solutions to several of Hux’s problems.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>80</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>This Is the Future the Republic Wants</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I saw a Death Star ball gag in one of those Buzzfeed “things to buy” compilations. My thoughts ran to Hux’s reaction to this item, and the rest is history.</p><p>Disclaimer. I haven’t read the comics, timeline is probably off, etc. Star Wars has a LOT of material to keep track of, and I am a new fan with much to learn. But we’re all here for Kylux, and there’s Kylux here. May it serve its purpose.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Major Hux has never seen anything like this.</p><p>As all soldiers of the First Order know well, the Core Worlds are dissipated hotbeds of luxury, decadence, and perversion. Hux learned this as a child, from the old Imperial officers who vowed to stand against the New Republic’s moral depravity. Armitage Hux has dedicated his life to the First Order’s aims, to cleanse the Galaxy of the Republic’s hypocrisy and vile filth.</p><p>That dedication has brought him here, to a street corner on Hosnian Prime, in the midst of some sort of erotic festival, where Hux is witnessing scenes of extravagant carnality beyond the wildest, most fevered heights of his imagination.</p><p>Well. Technically, Hux is supposed to be carrying out an assassination. His target is a New Republic politician, a top aide to Senator Organa. But Hux doesn’t know the streets of Hosnian Prime. The tall buildings block the sky and disorientate him. It took hours for him to navigate the transit system to make it to the centre of the city. Just when Hux thought things might be going his way, his comm died, and he discovered his new spare battery had taken water damage when he sat in a spill on the electromag rail tram that transported him into the city. This has left him with no link to the First Order officers who should be providing live intel to direct Hux to the man he’s been assigned to kill. </p><p>And now Hux is caught in a crowd of glitter-, leather-, and feather-covered strangers of all genders and species. They seem to be performing or attempting various sexual rituals — Hux doesn’t want to look too closely. His stomach lurches at the fact of all these scantily clad bodies around him, these humans and xeno sentients whooping, gyrating, blasting their raucous songs. The parade of them stretches as far as Hux can see, in every direction, filling the city’s streets.</p><p>Hux tries to appear as though he knows what he’s doing, where he’s going, and whom he intends to meet. This is the basic safety protocol for unfamiliar urban environments. He’s gone through this simulation a dozen times in his training.</p><p>Strange how poorly the sim has prepared him for the real thing. He’ll have to speak to his father about having it fixed. But then Hux would have to explain to Brendol what he has fallen into, and Hux doesn’t think he could ever explain this experience to anyone, his father least of all.</p><p>Someone bumps into Hux, and he stumbles across the pavement into the side of a towering building. He’s clumsy here, caught in a planet’s natural gravity for the first time in months. The passerby is a Wookiee, its fur dyed pink and purple all over. Their collision has left Hux’s grey shirtsleeve smeared from wrist to shoulder with sparkling paint. He curses under his breath, pushes his hair back into place. So much for keeping a low profile.</p><p>Pressing himself to the building’s wall, Hux stares after the offending Wookiee as it merges into the crowd. To Hux’s absolute horror, the beast has one arm slung around the waist of a tall green-skinned Twi’lek. Images enter Hux’s mind, images of unnatural congress. Heat rises to his cheeks. How would they even...? But that’s a disgusting question. Hux doesn’t want to know such things.</p><p>Some assassin he makes. He’s not meant for the field. He was made to give orders, to use his superior intellect and strategic abilities to make decisions for those who are less gifted in this department. Why can’t his military superiors see that Hux is far too valuable to risk on such a tiresome mission to the Core?</p><p>With his back against the skyscraper’s durasteel panels, Hux edges along the street. If he can get to an alleyway, perhaps he can slip away down it, skirting the crush of bodies. Then he’ll find a tech shop and buy a new battery for his comm unit. He will adapt to these inconvenient circumstances. He will learn from this and rise above it, as he has risen through the First Order’s ranks. He will emerge unsullied from this undignified—</p><p>Oh, sweet stars. That’s a <em>stormtrooper</em>, or someone dressed like one. The bottom half of their attire is certainly not regulation. In fact, the bottom half of their attire barely <em>exists</em>. Hux raises his eyes to the grey skies, longing to be far from this dissipated planet. </p><p>There are other stormtroopers behind the first, a scattering of them, all in states of undress. One is splashed with paint, milk-blue, pearlescent green. Another has strange protuberances emerging from their armour...are they horns? Some xeno body feature?</p><p>No. With horror, Hux realises what they are. The protuberances are...devices intended for self-pleasure. Attached to the ersatz stormtrooper’s armour with suction cups. </p><p>These revellers are making a mockery of the First Order. This is the traitorous heart of the New Republic, and the sight of it fills Hux with rage.</p><p>Hux pushes away from the wall, shoving his way through the crowd. He will remove himself from this situation by any means necessary, even if it requires brushing elbows with glittery Wookiees and dildo-studded stormtrooper impersonators. “Hey,” a voice protests as Hux’s forearm collides roughly with a scaly torso. But Hux doesn’t have the will to summon his politeness. This is war, and war is Hux’s domain.</p><p>Ahead, a side street branches off from the main boulevard. There are people sauntering down it as well, but it’s less crowded there. It’s Hux’s only hope. Here, there are sweaty bodies pressed against his back and front, and he suppresses the desire to retch.</p><p>When the crowd moves Hux closer to the side street, Hux practically dives for freedom, grabbing the edge of a city waste bin to keep his balance. On his way out of the crush of bodies, he trips over a human man in a golden bikini, who laughs.</p><p>“Little Red is in a hurry. Places to be, people to do?”</p><p>Hux throws him a nuclear glance. The man blows a kiss, and the crowd sweeps him away, out of Hux’s sight for all of time.</p><p>The side street is mercifully deserted, especially as Hux ventures further along it. There are a few restaurants with outdoor tables, where couples — many of them mixed-species — gaze adoringly into each other’s eyes. One table seats four lovers, but the aliens gathered there have enough eyes to stare at all their partners at once.</p><p>Hux can’t comprehend such a lifestyle. Even one partner is one more than Hux has ever been able to stand.</p><p>He passes a pair of Tarsunts, venerable and bowed, with bright flowers plaited into their white beards. On the other side of the street, in an alcove at the base of a skyscraper, two human women are kissing, wrapped in each other’s embrace. The sight of their passion makes Hux’s breath catch. He swallows, sets his eyes straight ahead. </p><p>The street grows narrow, and then it turns sharply, stretching like a silver cord between two broad black buildings that lose their tops somewhere high in the clouds overhead.</p><p>There are people down this shadowy road, too. Hux can hear their chatter and smell the smoke from their cigarras. He moves to the other side of the narrow street.</p><p>As he draws closer to the knot of strangers, a cold familiarity drains out of Hux’s limbs and settles in his gut. There’s a tall man in a grey uniform, a man Hux saw thousands of times during the leanest years of his childhood in exile. A man with many faces, but always the same uniform, the same harsh words, the same brutality —</p><p>But no, this man on the street isn’t really an old Imperial officer. He’s an impersonator. He’s only playing dress-up.</p><p>A woman steps out from behind the man. She wears white, a white uniform with gold epaulets. She’s dressed as a Grand Admiral of the Imperial Navy. Her dark curls are pulled back, the way Grand Admiral Sloane wore her hair. But as Hux gets close enough to choke on the smoke from her cigarra, he sees there can be no mistaking this woman for Sloane. Her pale face is cold, twisted, smiling.</p><p>“Aren’t you a pretty thing,” she says. The street is so narrow that she doesn’t need to raise her voice.</p><p>Her male companion steps in front of Hux, blocking his path ahead. “You want this one?” he asks her.</p><p>Hux’s hand flies to the concealed blaster at his hip. Then he remembers his comm’s dead spare battery. Dead from water damage. Did his blaster’s battery pack suffer the same fate? If he can’t be sure it will fire — if he can’t be sure he can win this fight — he should try to de-escalate it first.</p><p>“Out of my way,” Hux commands. “I have no time for games.”</p><p>The two Imperial impersonators glance at each other.</p><p>“He thinks this is a game,” sneers the woman.</p><p>“He looks like he’s more familiar with work than with play,” the man points out, stepping closer to Hux.</p><p>Hux steps back. His hand closes around the grip of his blaster. If the man gets close enough, Hux can dispatch him with a blow to the head, without firing a shot. He’s practiced the hand-to-hand combat sims. He knows the technique. But that leaves the woman, and there’s no reason to assume she’s unarmed. These may be a pair of New Republic decadents, but the light in their eyes is savage. Hux would be a fool to underestimate them.</p><p>There’s a noise to Hux’s right side, against the wall where the pair of fake Imperials stood before they surrounded him. Hux glances in the direction of the sound.</p><p>There’s a third person there, pressed against the black durasteel like a shadow. It’s a thin man with light brown hair. He wears an Imperial costume too, the dark uniform of a cadet. Under his cap, his face is pale, resigned. His mouth is stretched open with a gag, like the ones the First Order uses to restrain stubborn prisoners.</p><p>This gag, however, has an unusual design. There’s a ball of springy grey plasteel filling the young man’s mouth. It resembles one of the Hosnian moons Hux flew past this morning, when his shuttle descended to Hosnian Prime’s surface.</p><p>No. It’s not a moon. The design printed on it is too distinctive, too familiar. It’s...</p><p>These predatory impersonators of Imperial officials have gagged their young companion with a moulded model of Grand Moff Tarkin’s first Death Star.</p><p>Rage flares in Hux like an explosion. This injustice! This perversion of the Galactic Empire’s legacy...!</p><p>Hux moves to draw his blaster.</p><p>But before he can pull it from the concealed holster, an arm drapes itself around his shoulder. Someone has come up behind him and caught him in an embrace.</p><p>“Hey, baby,” murmurs a deep voice close to his ear. “I thought you’d never get here. These Imperials giving you trouble?”</p><p>Hux tries to pull away from his assailant, but the arm around him is strong. It belongs, he sees, to a young man — a handsome young man. He has thick dark hair, prominent ears, a spill of black moles across his pale skin. A recessed chin that makes his nose seem charmingly oversized. Full, rosy lips. Hux swallows the water that fills his mouth at the sight of those lips.</p><p>The young man flicks his eyes away from the three fake Imperials, to glance at Hux. He winks.</p><p>Hux’s heart speeds up. A spiral of warmth rises in his stomach.</p><p>“These degenerates were amusing themselves with a bit of harassment,” says Hux, facing them with his fiercest disdain. “They saw me as a weak target.”</p><p>“They have no idea, do they, baby?” The young man tightens his arm around Hux’s shoulder, pulling him closer. Then the young man leans forward, dips his head, and presses a kiss to Hux’s cheek.</p><p>Heat washes through Hux’s body like concentrated starlight. His face feels hot enough to burn this stranger’s mouth. His knees tremble. The kiss is a brazen move, an act of sexual aggression, and Hux should draw his blaster and shoot this man and all three pseudo-Imperial persecutors. But he only makes a small noise of astonishment and glances up into the man’s dark, liquid eyes.</p><p>“I’ll kill them for you,” says the man, waving a broad hand at the three in the street. “Just say the word. I’m at your command.”</p><p>Hux laughs a single mirthless syllable before he realises the man isn’t joking. The fake Imperials realise it too, and close ranks. The tall man takes the woman’s hand, and the woman laces her arm around the waist of her gagged cadet.</p><p>“We’re leaving,” says the woman.</p><p>“I never touched him,” the tall man says, stepping away down the dark street.</p><p>The fake cadet blinks above his offensive ball gag, and follows the man and woman as they make their escape.</p><p>When they’re no longer in earshot, the young man removes his arm from Hux’s shoulder.</p><p>“I had to do that to convince them,” he says. “Sorry.”</p><p>But he winks again. He’s not sorry.</p><p>Hux, against all reason, isn’t sorry either. His body still rings with the aftershocks of the kiss, echoes of that heat pressed to his cheek, as though the memory of it will repeat endlessly across his skin for all of time.</p><p>“I’m Ben,” says the young man. “I live upstairs.”</p><p>He points his index finger straight into the sky, and Hux follows his gesture to where the skyscraper disappears into the clouds.</p><p>He’s one of those, then. A true son of the New Republic. Only the most privileged residents of this city get to live with a sight of the open sky.</p><p>“I’m Hux,” says Hux. It’s a common enough name on Arkanis, nothing sufficient to link him to the Order or to his father. He could have come up with an alias for his mission, but why bother? It’s not as though it matters. The New Republic will know the First Order was behind the assassination of Organa’s right-hand man, whether or not Hux takes detailed pains to disguise his trail.</p><p>“Want to see my place, Hux?”</p><p>“I need to charge my comm, actually,” says Hux. “Would that be acceptable?”</p><p>“Anything you want,” says the young man called Ben. “As I said, I’m at your command.”</p><p>Hux stares askance at him. He’s an odd creature, round-shouldered, gawky and elegant at the same time. Ben is dressed in the white robes of a Jedi, with a fake lightsaber clipped to his hip. It’s an unconventional choice for a festival costume, and Hux almost wants to laugh. The Jedi are a relic of a fallen age. To reduce their mysticism to a mere costume, to make a lewd parody of the Jedi tradition of self-denial...it’s what the Jedi Order deserves. Between the trick with the Imperial trio and this ensemble, Hux is beginning to enjoy Ben’s sense of humour.</p><p>“Take me upstairs, then,” Hux says levelly, surprised at his own daring.</p><p>Ben inclines his head in a courtly gesture, as though he really is a Jedi Knight of old. He turns, his robes flaring out dramatically, and strides through the doors of his building, which open for him automatically at a flick of his finger. New Republic technology. A waste of energy, but it’s hygienic.</p><p>The building’s wide lobby is all transparisteel and polished stone, the floor tiles glossy white with veins of gold. Ben nods at the doorman, a Mon Calamari in gold livery. The lift tube opens automatically too, and Hux follows Ben inside. </p><p>The lift tube is bigger inside than most starfighters, but Ben stands close to Hux, their shoulders brushing. Hux clasps his hands at the small of his back. The return to his military posture reassures him, as though, in spite of the glitter and paint smeared across his arm, he’s still Major Hux, not some dissipated New Republic stranger to himself.</p><p>“Those Imperial sympathisers can be dangerous,” says Ben, breaking the silence. “You were fortunate that I happened along.”</p><p>Hux turns his gaze on him, unimpressed with this assessment of the situation.</p><p>Ben amends his words. “You look like you could be dangerous too.”</p><p>“You can’t begin to imagine,” says Hux, and turns his eyes to the lift tube’s ceiling, where a camera watches them for the rest of their long, silent ascent.</p><p>The entire top floor belongs to Ben, because of course it does. Of course Hux has been rescued from danger by a coddled New Republic prince. That’s the only acceptable end to the depraved tale of Hux’s day on Hosnian Prime, when every possible element of his mission went as wrong as it could.</p><p>The decor in the flat is all white and gold and warm russet brown, sophisticated and approachable all at once. Everything is new, with few signs of wear, and Hux has the impression that the flat is a not a full time residence. But surely no one could be rich enough to afford an entire floor of a building for a second home, even in the New Republic.</p><p>Ben shows Hux to a sitting room down a short hallway. This sitting room has a darker palette, and its furnishings look as though they have been recently unpacked from a tumultuous move, or perhaps damaged in a natural disaster. At the other side of the sitting room, a door opens onto a bedroom. Hux catches a glimpse of a bed, unmade, fitted with black blankets and sheets.</p><p>“Sit.” Ben gestures to the dark curving sofa. His courtly manners persist. Hux sits, his knees together, his hands in his lap. There’s a charging pad on the sofa’s end table, and Hux takes the liberty of setting his comm on it.</p><p>“Do you want a drink?” Ben nods at the small conservator in the corner. “Never mind. I’m getting us water.”</p><p>How ascetic. He takes his Jedi roleplay seriously, then. Hux smirks at the thought. The bottle of water Ben hands him is cold and filled with tiny bubbles that sting his tongue as he drinks.</p><p>Ben collapses next to Hux on the sofa, like someone has slashed through the strings that held him upright. He drains half his bottle of water in a gulp. Then he looks at Hux, simply <em>looks</em> at him, for far too long. His eyes move over Hux’s space-pale skin, his pinched features, his too-bright hair, his soldier’s posture.</p><p>Hux takes another sip of the strange New Republic water, to give his mouth something to do.</p><p>“What brings you to Pride Week?” Ben asks at last. “You don’t seem like the type.”</p><p>“I’m not heterosexual, if that’s what you mean.” Hux blurts.</p><p>Why did he say that? What does it matter what Ben thinks of his sexuality? They’re strangers to each other. Practically the first rule of covert operations is to refrain from volunteering irrelevant information. Hux’s sexuality is among the most irrelevant things about him, and it’s even more irrelevant to the situation he’s in now.</p><p>“Obviously.” Ben smirks. That’s rude of him. “But you’re not like <em>them</em>.” He waves his hand in the direction of the teeming streets far below. “You’re all buttoned up.” </p><p>Ben sets his bottle of water on the table at his end of the sofa. He reaches for Hux’s high collar, where his shirt fastens with a small pearly grey button.</p><p>Hux’s breath catches as he watches Ben’s fingers unfasten it.</p><p>“You should be a soldier,” says Ben. “You’d wear the uniform better than those fake officers who were fucking with you.”</p><p>Hux’s lip twitches, his eyebrows drawing together for a brief second. There’s no way Ben could know.</p><p>“You would be one of those New Imperials. The First Order,” Ben says, dark-eyed. The name lingers on his obscene lips, like he’s tasting it. </p><p>He leans closer to Hux, unbuttons the topmost of the hidden buttons on the front of Hux’s shirt. Runs his thumbs along Hux’s collarbones, over the cloth that covers them. Hux puts his shoulders back, shifting into Ben’s touch. He’s not sure what this is, or what he’s signed up for, but he wants more of it, wants it with his entire body.</p><p>“If I’m First Order,” Hux says carefully, “and you’re a Jedi, then...what are we doing?”</p><p>“I’m not a Jedi,” Ben says. “I’m a padawan. Didn’t you see my braid?”</p><p>He tosses his head. A tail of braided black hair whips over his shoulder, where Hux can see it. There’s something creepy about the braid, as though it doesn’t belong on Ben. Which it doesn’t. It’s only a Pride Week costume, after all.</p><p>“Padawan, then. Why would a First Order officer let a Jedi padawan undress him?”</p><p>“You tell me,” says Ben. He flicks open another of Hux’s buttons. </p><p>“I can’t think of one reason.” Hux pushes his chest forward, offering himself for Ben to touch. “The First Order opposes everything the New Republic stands for.”</p><p>Ben pulls apart the two sides of Hux’s shirt and lowers his head. “May I?” he asks. His mouth is close to Hux’s throat.</p><p>Hux bites his lip at the warmth of Ben’s breath on his skin. “Yes,” he whispers, hardly believing he’s saying it. The New Republic has taken him apart, made him into a man he doesn’t recognise.</p><p>Or maybe it’s just Ben. When Ben presses his incredible lips to the top of Hux’s collarbone, Hux wants to press his body against Ben’s, wants to be under him, open and willing. Wants to pull Ben’s hair and bite him and hear him moan deeply as he comes.</p><p>Hux’s mouth is dry as Jakku sand. He swallows, to moisten it, but his lips open again immediately in a gasp, because Ben’s hands are on his chest now, ghosting over Hux’s shirt, over his nipples, travelling downwards to span his waist. </p><p>“Hux,” Ben murmurs, kissing up Hux’s neck to his chin. “You’re pristine. Want to serve you.”</p><p>If Ben kisses his mouth, Hux realises, something will happen, something that can’t be undone. This encounter will go from a forgivable indiscretion to an error of consequence. One press of Ben’s lips to his and Hux will fall over an irrevocable precipice, all his strict morals lost forever, turned to New Republic vice. Hux pulls back, eyes wide, his insides set alight by the hunger on Ben’s face.</p><p>“Water,” Hux says hastily. “Get me my water.”</p><p>Ben raises his hand, flicks his finger, and the bottle of water soars through the air into Hux’s hand.</p><p>Hux stares at it, then at Ben. He’s never seen anything like that before. But Hux studied Darth Vader and the Emperor in his history classes at the Academy. Once, he even met Supreme Leader Snoke. So he knows what it means to send an object through the air with the power of a thought.</p><p>“You’re a Force user.”</p><p>Ben grins broadly. His eyeteeth are remarkably sharp. Hux wants to run his tongue over them.</p><p>“One of the best,” says Ben. “You should see me when I’m training.”</p><p>This is too much for Hux to take in. It’s a piece of some puzzle he should be able to put together, if his head weren’t spinning with more lust than he’s ever felt in his life.</p><p>The costume, though. Hux understands the costume now, at least.</p><p>“You’re an actual Jedi padawan.”</p><p>“What did you think? I saw you looking at my lightsaber. You thought it was fake?” Ben’s mouth twists. He sounds wounded, petulant.</p><p>“I thought it was a Pride Week costume. I haven’t seen anyone out of costume since I’ve been in this kriffing city.”</p><p>Ben curls his lip. “I hate Pride Week.”</p><p>One more tick for Ben in the “good” column of Hux’s mental ledger. There are almost enough now to make up for his membership in an ancient, villainous, nearly-extinct cult.</p><p>“I wandered in the crowd for hours,” Hux confesses. “I was lost and couldn’t find my way out. I witnessed shocking acts.”</p><p>“It doesn’t take much to shock you, does it, soldier?”</p><p>Hux scowls at the sentiment and the nickname.</p><p>“I have a strict moral code,” Hux corrects him.</p><p>“That makes one of us.” Ben grins his sharp grin again.</p><p>“Why do you detest Pride Week, then, if your objections are not moral ones?”</p><p>Ben snorts a long exhale. “It’s frivolous. Devoid of any true meaning. Sex is a base physical need, and love is weakness.”</p><p>“That doesn’t sound like the Jedi code.” Hux knows little about the Jedi, but his impression is of a meaningless doctrine of peace and love. Impractical, a violation of human nature. Above all, frivolous.</p><p>“I told you,” says Ben. “I’m not a Jedi.”</p><p>“Ah, so yours is the padawan code.” Hux sneers his disdain for Ben’s pedantry.</p><p>“I have my own code.” Ben’s eyes spark with something dark and triumphant. “I will be more powerful than any Jedi. I don’t have to follow their rules.”</p><p>“Your very own code that allows you to hate Pride Week.”</p><p>Ben snarls at him for his mockery, but he must see some fondness in Hux’s face, because his anger dissolves into something that’s almost a smile. He slides to his feet in front of Hux and takes Hux’s face in his hands, stroking his cheekbones.</p><p>“I hate everything,” says Ben warmly. “Hatred is power.”</p><p>“I hate the New Republic.” Hux, mouth downturned, smiles with only his eyes, like this insult to Ben’s home is a private joke for them to share.</p><p>“You don’t even know.” Ben shudders. His unsettling braid flips back over his shoulder, out of sight. “The New Republic is an abomination. The <em>government</em> is...” </p><p>Ben trails off. He tosses his head, banishing his thoughts. “Why would I waste breath on politics when you’re here?”</p><p>He drags his thumb across Hux’s lower lip. Hux’s eyes drop shut, his body humming with need. It’s almost like a kiss, or what he imagines a kiss would feel like.</p><p>Hux flicks his tongue out. Ben’s skin tastes like salt and some vile kind of incense, probably a requirement for Jedi rituals. Though, with Ben, it could be from anything. He’s clearly no typical padawan.</p><p>“It’s meaningless to take pride in immutable traits,” says Ben, as though the true answer to Hux’s question has arrived in his mind at last. “Pride in the self should be earned through great deeds.”</p><p>Ben’s grandiose musings don’t make for the most erotic atmosphere, but there’s something compelling to Hux about the way Ben leans over him, as though this gawky young man truly could grow up to surpass the power of the ancients. And isn’t that what Hux wants to do, too, in his way? He dreams of technological triumph, of a war won in a single shot. Of his own Imperial dominion over every star and every world.</p><p>“What would you call a great deed?”</p><p>“War,” says Ben simply. “Triumph.”</p><p>His eyes stay locked on Hux’s as he drops to his knees.</p><p>He slides his hands up Hux’s thighs. His grip is rough, and the strength of it makes Hux’s hips buck towards Ben’s mouth.</p><p>“May I suck your cock, soldier?”</p><p>“General.” Hux’s voice is rough. He doesn’t recognise the sound of it.</p><p>Ben’s dark eyebrows draw together. “You’re not a general.”</p><p>“I will be.”</p><p>Ben doesn’t reply, only looks at him with those immense, heavy eyes. He unbuttons Hux’s slim black civilian trousers and pulls them down to Hux’s knees, along with Hux’s Order-regulation underwear.</p><p>Hux slides down on the sofa, closer to Ben. He feels clumsy like this, foolish, with his pale thighs exposed and his clothes in disarray. Not to mention the smear of glitter on his shirt. And the fact that he’s deserted his covert assignment to offer himself sexually to a Jedi padawan.</p><p>“Wait,” Hux puts his hand on Ben’s forehead, halting him.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You’re a padawan. Don’t you have vows against this sort of behaviour?”</p><p>Ben rolls his eyes. “Sucking cock isn’t sex. As long as you don’t reciprocate, I’m pure. And it doesn’t matter. I’ll never be a Jedi. Fuck their rules. I like giving head.”</p><p>He pauses, haughty and sincere. “Fuck my mouth, General Hux.”</p><p>Hux drags a deep, drowning breath down into his narrow chest. This isn’t how he imagined this happening, when he used to entertain foolish sexual fantasies in his Academy years. This is much weirder, with higher stakes. And Hux is much, much more aroused than he ever thought he could be.</p><p>He trails his fingers back from Ben’s forehead to knot them into his dark hair. It’s softer than it looks. Ben’s lips fall open as Hux strokes him. This is power. It gives Hux the same unmistakeable thrill as the power he wields when he orders his subordinates to strike, to fire, to kill.</p><p>“Please,” murmurs Ben. “Please fuck my mouth. You’re pure, Hux. Let me choke on you.”</p><p>“Tell me what it’s going to be like,” Hux requests. Half of him is nervous. The other half is convinced he’s living the first moments of some glorious destiny yet to unfold. “Tell me what you’re going to do.”</p><p>Ben’s eyebrows meet and part. He’s confused, until the confusion resolves.</p><p>“You’ve never done this before.”</p><p>“I’m not naïve,” Hux protests. “I’ve had orgasms before. Just not with...” He lays a fingertip on Ben’s lower lip, to indicate his mouth.</p><p>“But you’re older than I am.”</p><p>“I’m twenty-six. I climax regularly for my health, according to medical recommendations. But I’ve never...I’m not a...”</p><p>Ben stares at Hux with a blend of pity and awe. “I’m twenty-one,” he says, “And I’ve sucked dozens of cocks. I always swallow.”</p><p>How nice for him. The debauched little Core World padawan who can’t even keep to his vows. He wouldn’t last a day in the First Order. The thought of Ben in the Order, in uniform, suffering the same hazing as any new recruit, makes Hux want to come all over his innocent New Republic face.</p><p>“Stop boasting and get to it, then.” Hux lowers his voice and hisses, “Slut.”</p><p>The word hits Ben like a physical thing. Hux watches Ben’s face contort with the pure lust rushing through him. Ben’s eyes, already wide and dark, flare worshipfully. He’s desperate for this. When Hux yanks his hair, his disgusting little braid, Ben moans from his chest. Hux’s cock jerks at the sound.</p><p>Ben takes his cock in hand, licking the underside of the head, rubbing it over his tongue, his perfect lips. Hux keens. He won’t last long, never does, but he wants to drag this out until he can’t tolerate any more. Ben licks a long, hot stripe from Hux’s sac to his leaking tip, and Hux tenses, eyes fixed on nothing, as though he’s been run through. Pleasure rises through his cock, his belly, his flushed chest. Fuck, Ben is good at this, or Hux is easy, or both. </p><p>“Slutty boy,” Hux manages to gasp. “Filthy, to put your mouth on—”</p><p>Ben takes him to the root, his eyes on Hux’s. The heat of his mouth steals every word from Hux’s mind. Ben’s gaze speaks of pure submission, of bliss on his knees as he opens his throat for Hux to fuck.</p><p>Hux jerks his hips, pulls Ben’s hair until he sees tears in the fallen padawan’s eyes. Ben’s mouth is soaking wet, his lips impossibly soft and hot. When Ben bends his head again to give Hux a better angle on the deeper parts of him, he chokes, and a tear spills down his cheek.</p><p>“Good,” whines Hux, his thoughts bereft of everything but his pleasure and the fact that Ben is the reason for it. Ben moans to hear Hux praise him, and the moan vibrates through his mouth and throat.</p><p>This, in turn, takes Hux to the edge. He comes, spurting into Ben’s throat without warning, and Ben, true to his word, does his best to swallow it all.</p><p>It’s like no other orgasm Hux has ever had. It seems to go on for a lifetime, and, indeed, scenes from Hux’s twenty-six years of life flash before his eyes like holograms. There’s the memory he’d almost forgotten, where Grand Admiral Sloane taught him game theory aboard the <em>Imperialis</em>, the yacht that took them into exile. There’s the time he met Phasma, and the first time he and Phasma went on a mission planetside together, the time he decided she might truly be his friend. There are moments on his starship with his crew, and moments of tense discussion in classified Order meetings, including the meeting where Hux received his current assignment. For a long, strange moment, Hux views a memory of his sole encounter with Supreme Leader Snoke, in which one of Snoke’s generals introduced the young Captain Hux to the First Order’s leader. </p><p>The memories don’t ruin the experience, though. It’s as though someone else is watching his life from outside, relieving Hux of his thoughts for as long as it takes for Hux to dissolve into total, boneless ecstasy. Then Hux’s mind goes blank, and he spurts once more into Ben’s mouth, across his tongue, while Ben moans his approval.</p><p>“So good,” whispers Hux, when he can speak again. “I’ve never.”</p><p>“I told you I was good. I’ve trained myself.”</p><p>Ben sweeps the back of his hand across his eyes to dry his tears, and wipes the spit and come away from Hux’s cock with his palm. Hux winces. Any touch is too rough in the aftermath, when he’s most sensitive. But Ben is careful as he pulls up Hux’s trousers for him and tucks everything back into place. He even re-buttons Hux's shirt. When he's finished, he kisses the soft underside of Hux's jaw lightly, once, before dropping to his knees once more.</p><p>Hux reaches for his bottle of water and uncaps it, savouring the strange bubbles, the mineral taste. His comm has a full charge now, and he takes it from the charging pad and slips it back into his pocket. When he leaves, he’ll report to his superiors, use their intel to find his target. But he doesn’t want to leave yet. Ben still kneels before him, resting his head in Hux’s lap.</p><p>With both hands, Hux strokes Ben’s hair. He’s a strange creature, this New Republic padawan, but the strangest thing of all is how much they both seem to have in common. Their ambitions align. Even in the First Order, where everyone above the rank of Captain is vying for the power to rule the Galaxy, Hux has never met anyone else who grasps the absurdity of the way the Galaxy works, and who shares the need to transform that absurdity into something with meaning, something built to endure forever.</p><p>Somewhere in the building, Hux hears the lift tube rushing upwards, an almost undetectable breath of noise in the quiet.</p><p>The tap of leisurely footsteps, muffled by many walls.</p><p>A few rooms away, the slow whoosh of a door sliding open.</p><p>A woman’s voice, folksy and warm, calls out, “Ben? You home yet?”</p><p>“Shit,” Ben swears, wild eyes on Hux. He springs to his feet, casting a desperate glance around the room. Then he points his index finger at the bedroom.</p><p>“I’m not hiding in your—”</p><p>“Lift tube. Fire escape. Will take you straight down to the ground, no problem.”</p><p>“Ben?” The woman calls out again.</p><p>“In a sec, Mommy,” Ben shouts over his shoulder. “I’m in the sonic.”</p><p><em>Mommy?</em> Hux can’t hide his horror, his twisted glee. This is the true heart of the New Republic, in all its slipshod indulgence.</p><p>Ben grimaces, half-apologetic, when he sees Hux’s expression. “I bought us time?”</p><p>He pushes Hux ahead of him into his bedroom. Hux only has time to register a sweeping impression of darkness, minimal decor, and a few incongruous gold and white elements that clearly belong to the woman called “Mommy.”</p><p>Then Ben whips open the durasteel doors of the lift tube with the Force, and, with his hand on the small of Hux’s back, nudges him inside.</p><p>This fire escape lift tube is much smaller than the building’s main lift. Its walls are transparisteel, affording Hux a gut-twisting view of the city far below. Ben crowds him into the tiny space. He’s broad, present, intense. He still smells like incense, like a temple ritual. With unexpected difficulty, Hux raises his eyes to meet Ben’s for the last time.</p><p>“Goodbye, Ben,” says Hux, with as much formal dignity as he can muster in the circumstances.</p><p>“Fuck,” swears Ben. He stares hard at Hux’s face and doesn’t blink.</p><p>Before Hux can process what’s happening, Ben’s lips are on his, hot and open. It’s a messy kiss, but it’s the only one Hux has had, and he opens for it without thought or consideration. He rakes his tongue over Ben’s sharp teeth, and moans when Ben licks inside him, keen and searching. Ben tastes filthy, like Hux, like the things they’ve done together. The taste makes Hux want all of it over again.</p><p>Ben’s arms are around him, as if to keep Hux from falling. Stars, the strength of him, the raw power in his body. The need with which he’s kissing Hux, like he doesn’t want to let him go.</p><p>But in the end, Ben does let him go, and Hux lets go, too, of where his clenched hands have creased Ben’s padawan robes.</p><p>Ben lets his eyes rest on Hux for a moment. Hux should press the button to make the lift tube descend. He doesn’t. He fills his mind with this image of Ben’s strange, handsome face.</p><p>“You’re on Hosnian Prime to kill Sabo Valk,” says Ben at last, in almost a whisper. “Senator Organa’s man.” It’s not a question.</p><p>Hux’s stomach drops, as though the lift tube is already falling.</p><p>How in stars’ name could Ben know that? Did he go through Hux’s comm? Has Hux compromised the Order’s classified data with today’s lapse into self-indulgence? Will he have to go before Supreme Leader Snoke and confess to a ruinous liaison with a prince of the New Republic?</p><p>“Valk eats dinner at the same place every night. Doboda. Nabooian food. It’s on Yavin Avenue. White marble everywhere outside. You can’t miss it.”</p><p>“How do you know this? Why should I trust you?”</p><p>Ben’s mouth is smug, but his eyes are still heavy with the dark fire of their kiss.</p><p>“I didn’t bite your dick off. And I’m the best lead you have.”</p><p>Hux grimaces.</p><p>With or without Ben’s help, Hux will kill Organa’s second-in-command. But if Ben’s tip is right, if it’s not some sort of trap, this job will be easy instead of difficult. Hux will be back to space in no time, away from this loathsome city. He can’t afford to disregard such information. This could be the key to his victory.</p><p>“Until next time,” says Ben.</p><p>Hux’s finger halts over the button for the lift tube. His eyes flick to Ben’s. His nose twitches.</p><p>“What? No. You won’t see me again. We may as well be from different Galaxies.”</p><p>“I’ll see you again, Hux,” says Ben with supreme confidence. He lifts two fingers to his forehead in a clumsy salute. “General.”</p><p>Hux nods once, like a vow he can’t keep. He squeezes his eyes shut tight on the image of Ben’s salute, and, with Ben’s promise echoing in his head, Hux presses the lift tube button. The roar of air resistance surrounds him as he plummets.</p><p>The entire city lies beneath him, speeding into closer view, but Hux doesn’t turn around to see it. Doesn’t open his eyes.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There’s some joke to be made here about blowjobs and blowing up Hosnian Prime. But that would be insensitive, of course. I wouldn't dare.</p><p>Anyway, you can follow me on Twitter at  <a href="https://twitter.com/sternfleck">sternfleck</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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